My almost two-year old surprised me today. With pleading eyes looking up to me he tugged at my hand, pointed to a black spot on the table and uttered those words every parent is proud to hear, “Kill.” Then, in case I didn’t quite understand what he was saying, he clarified. “Kill. Kill. Kill.” As a respectable parent who would never utter such vulgar phrases or endorse violence, I have to blame my wife. Yes, it’s true that we do not have a “live and let live” policy for creepy crawly things in our house, but it’s also true that I’m not the one with high emotions on my tip toes pointing to small moving objects calling for immediate judgement and wrath. While the littlest of the little ones cried out for destruction the other lad screamed out his best high-pitched T-Rex impersonation. The innocent insect inching his way towards freedom was obliterated in one swift move. My role as judge, jury, and executioner was finished.
It feels good to be needed even if it is for something so simple as bug killer. I prefer to think of myself as Defender of the Homefront, or DH for short. Yes, we have a dog for such matters but let’s face it, that creature is flawed. The real DH is not prone to napping. To be truly needed is an amazing feeling. Self worth goes through the roof, there’s a quickness in your step, a sense of purpose kicks in, and in short you know you matter to someone other than your mother. However, being needed is only a fraction of the equation. The real DH is dependable. Dependability must be involved in order to have any credibility with someone “needing” you. So at 3:00 in the morning when I hear, “Pops, I need you.” I know that springing into action is a must. Secretly I’m moaning because I know the sheets are wet, but when there’s a cry for help, it’s not about me. The DH steps in and bats clean up.
The true defender of humanity stepped in as the designated hitter and took it all upon himself so that I can pretend to be the defender of my little home front. As a domesticated husband who knows that he’s not more than a flawed napper prone to sporadically regular cries to kill my problems because the sky is falling, it’s genuinely comforting to know that the real DH has even the most infinitesimal of creepy crawly things under control.
nehrely there 